Super Harry
by Rhaegar Targaryen
Summary: Part parody, part wish fulfillment, all epic. Let's see what could happen, shall we?  A series of loosely connected drabbles
1. In which a dragon meets it's match

There is a style of story I'm sure you're all familiar with. The super Harry. Super Harry, as the name suggests, is incredible. He can use wandless, silent magic. He's an animagus, and often has multiple forms. He's smarter than Hermione, stronger than the Hulk and better looking than the most luscious piece of man the author can imagine. And yet he hides his powers. It's for a pretty simple reason – if he's too over the top, the author would have to make their own plotline instead of just "following the canon story, but better". This will be a series of drabbles about what happens when Harry doesn't hide his strength. He's the second coming of Merlin, and he's damn well going to prove it.

* * *

I'd never really given much thought to Harry before the tournament. Why should I? Sure he was the Boy-who-Lived, but he was three years below me and in another house. I think the first time I spoke to him was before the Quidditch World Cup. There was the fact that he rescued those poor muggles after the game, but to be honest, I could have done so as well. The rumours that his wand had been stolen before the game and only returned the next day were clearly ridiculous. No-one as young as him could use wandless magic, it just wasn't possible. And so when he was drawn from the goblet, I wasn't too bothered. He wasn't anything impressive (although I'm told the storm of cursing he let out when his name was drawn was definitely something to hear).

The first inkling I had that something was wrong was when he told me what the first task was going to be.

"Dragons?" I gasped, feeling my lunch threaten to come back up. This was ridiculous. One wizard against a dragon? We'd all be killed.

"Yep," he nodded, seeming disgustingly calm. "We've got to get past them or something. Thought you ought to know." And with that, he turned and strutted away. I thought for a moment, and then bolted to the library.

The day of the task, we were wrecks. I was filled with nervous energy, Krum looked like he would throw up and Fleur was as white as a sheet of parchment. Harry was looking calm and ready. I remember feeling sorry for him at the time, thinking he had no idea what he was up against. Looking back, it almost seems funny. We all thought he'd broken when he pulled the Hungarian Horntail. He just laughed. And laughed. And kept on laughing as we left to fight one by one. You might know how we went, if any newspaper even realized there were people other than Potter in the tournament. I transfigured a stone, and stole the egg while the dragon was distracted. Just the heated air caused by its breathe made my hair flare up though. I was lucky not to scar. Fleur charmed hers to sleep, but she also had a run in with dragon fire. Krum hit the dragon with a curse – hardly surprising, that a Durmstrang student would go for direct offense. He lost points for causing some eggs to be destroyed though.

Then Potter was lead out. The stands erupted with noise. Some cheering from the Gryffindors, mostly boos from the Slytherins and my own Hufflepuffs. Things went quiet though when people realized one fact. Harry was still laughing. Such an eerie silence descended upon the stands, you could hear the boy's cackling from hundreds of metres away. Then suddenly, he stopped. He pointed at the nesting Horntail, and declared loudly "I'm gonna kick your bloody arse!"

Then he charged at the dragon. I swear it looked bemused for a second before the obvious happened. It pulled its head back, then leaned forward and unleashed a scorching jet of flame upon the clearly insane celebrity. What happened next is firmly ingrained in Hogwarts legend. Rather than the flames dying away to reveal a scorched patch of earth, a second dragon burst forth from the inferno, and all of a sudden there were _two_ horntails wrestling and snapping at each other – to a dragon, flames are but a tickle, so dragon on dragon fights are contests of brawn and skill rather than fire. It was Dumbledore who figured it out first, of course.

"Animagus!"

I don't know who it was, but someone heard the headmaster, and soon a chant started up. And so it was to a shouted chorus of "An-i-ma-gus!" that the (clearly) male dragon gripped his opponent's horns, twisted, and snapped its neck with a loud crack.

Well, that caused a real furor, I can tell you. The dragon handlers were furious, and me and the other two champions were feeling bloody inadequate. The judges went into a short conference before deciding that they couldn't take marks away from the animagus for killing his opponent, as there were no rules against it. Clearly they hadn't thought it might be an issue. And so it was that the youngest competitor in the tournament also became the first to ever score perfect marks for one of the tasks. There was only one thing to be said at that point.

"Fucking Potter."


	2. In which dementors get owned

"Ex...expecto...patronum..."

The silver mist burst forth from Harry's wand and hovered feebly before the dementors before fading away into nothing. Harry fell to the ground, exhausted. This was it. He was done, spent, and the dementors would have their meal. With his mother's screams and his father's panicked shouts ringing in his mind, he couldn't even find it in him to be upset at his coming death. Maybe...maybe now he'd finally see them again.

_'I thought...I thought it'd protect me?'_

Harry would have laughed, had he still had the capacity for it. Protect him? When had anything ever protected him? The Dursleys, the stone, the basilisk...sure, he'd had help with some things, but he was never one to be kept from danger and protected. All his life, he'd dealt with things himself.

Suddenly, he realized exactly why his patronus never worked. He'd wanted something to protect him from dementors, but the patronus required a happy thought...and he'd never be truly happy if he was being protected. Mustering the last dregs of his strength, he stood tall, raised his wand, and pulled forth the happiest thought he could.

_'I'm going to look after myself!'_

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

He merely smiled as the silver form erupted around his wand. It was fitting to his location, he thought, that in this castle in the scottish highlands, he would summon forth a mighty claymore as his patronus. Moving his left hand below his right, he took the sword in a two handed grip, finding it to be both as light as air and as solid as the sword of Gryffindor. He looked at the dementors cowering back from the silvery form, and smirked.

"Corporeal Patronus, bitches."

Then he charged.


End file.
